


Memoirs Of A White, Married Male.

by apologiestoanderson



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 12:09:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2692451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apologiestoanderson/pseuds/apologiestoanderson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by Vladimir Nabokov, a Harry Potter fanfic written from Abraxas Malfoy's point of view. A working progress, currently unfinished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memoirs Of A White, Married Male.

Witches and wizards, if you are reading this then I want you to know that not proud of what I have done. In hindsight I would tell you that I never intended for this to happen, but what good did hindsight ever do? I am growing weaker and frailer by the day and I have seen my only son have a son of his own, yet this is hardly important at this point.  
  
Allow me to take you back to the autumn of my life, when I was a highly respected scholar, with a wife and a son, before I committed my crimes of love.  
  
Witches and wizards, allow me to present to you the dark tapestry of which I have woven myself.  
  
My son was the product of an arranged marriage. My wife, Odette came from a wealthy, pureblood family. She has always been little naïve for her own good, intelligent in her field but far too trusting. I never particularly liked her, but my family could have picked far worse. I didn’t have anything against her, and she made an occasional good conversation. I suppose that’s all I could ask for. In the tradition of picking partners based on social status, it came to the point where Lucius was to follow the same path that I myself walked once upon a time.  
  
“Narcissa Black really is an excellent choice, darling,” my wife told me, in that slightly wheezy voice it had taken me some time to get used to. It was only then that I realised that she had been speaking to me for some time.  
  
“Hm? Oh, yes,” I agreed, then nodding to her. “Cygnus has quite a few good contacts in runes, Druella too.” It was something that we had agreed on previously before. I wasn’t quite sure why she decided to bring up the subject again. I suppose we’d got to the point in our marriage where there was little else to talk about. I’d stopped listening for a brief while, simply nodding in agreement. It was a fair while before I pulled myself from my deep thoughts, finally granting my wife the attention she thought she’d had all along.  
  
“-Which reminds me,” she’d continued. “Do you remember that Prince girl? She played… oh, what was it?”  
  
Little did I know that those words that frustrated me at the time were a beautiful calligraphy that was ever so lightly laced with a thin layer of gold that would open the next chapter in the book of my life. Wizards and witches, allow me to invite you look at the first stem in horrid tangle of thorns.  
  
“Gobstones, yes,” I uttered, my index finger and thumb rubbing over my furrowing brow. “What about her? I heard she had drifted to the… non magical side of the fence.” It was the most delicate way I could put such a thing, after all. Odette had been brief friends with Eileen at school, but they lost contact after marrying her muggle lover. How any witch could marry a non-magical person with all our history, I have no idea. But I digress, the rumours of her savoury marriage were owled about rapidly then forgotten about as quickly as they’d started.  
  
“Well she only got to an owlery a couple of days ago, she asked if she could stay here a while. Of course I said yes, she might leave that awful man for good,” Odette stated. “Of course we have more than a room available and Lucius has spoken rather highly of her son before.”  
  
I made my distaste of the conversation known. I sighed deeply, then lifting up the book I had been reading at earlier. Of course this time I was simply staring at the words, there was little else I could do. She would continue talking, she always did, bright but never really got social cues. She continued to give details of this supposed visit that quite frankly I couldn’t give a damn about.  
  
I had made it clear to my wife what I had expected from this visit. Luckily the manor is large so I’ve always been able to avoid when her friends would come round. As long as they stayed away from my office then I quite frankly couldn’t care less about her friends babbling away incessantly with her friends, as long as they kept away from my office then it was fine with me.  
  
Someone who made the mistake of marrying a muggle though? I’m still surprised there are witches and wizards stupid enough to do that in the first place. I hoped she wouldn’t go around making mistakes around the manor. Odette could bring around whoever she wanted, frankly, as long as they didn’t bother me, and it didn’t last too long. It was horribly inconvenient to have spectres that the feast when there were already so many skeletons in the closet.  
  
We went about our business as we usually do. I stayed in my office, continuing my various researches and writings as I usually do. At this point I had already had two academic books published and was working on a third, one that was looking into the exact properties and side effects of those that had to be given bezoar antidotes. Many witches and wizards that had taken antidotes several times in a year and were developing very curious side effects indeed. They included the likes of herbologists and those that had been working with magical creatures. Needless to say, it was absolutely vital that I had time to myself in order to proceed with my research as there was quite a bit left to do. Readings, experiments, interviews. As each day came my work became a little more completed whilst oddly seeming as if there was so much left to do.  
  
I had finally left my office, papers all neatly together in a way that I clearly understood the layout but would be havoc to the eye of someone that didn’t understand my organizational procedures. I made my way downstairs, hoping to quickly retrieve some of the house elves’ cooking whilst simultaneously avoiding the people in my house that would cause me to slow down my research.  
  
“Oh darling, good, you’re here.”  
  
Her words were a rope that ran through my head, knotting along the way. I inhaled sharply before turning on my heel, looking over to my wife with that same, fake smile I had painted on all these years.  
  
“You remember Eileen Prince,” she said, gesturing to the thin next to her. I would not have recognised her after all these years. She had lost a considerable amount of weight and seemed as if she could break from the smallest touch. She was a lot gaunter than the bright, talented, rosy-cheeked witch I had known in Hogwarts. It was a sorry sight, to say the least. The muggle life was certainly not one to be recommended.  
  
“Snape,” she corrected before we engaged in one of the more uncomfortable handshakes of my life. I’ve always been a good actor, those from the house of generally are, yet I was unable to keep the distaste off my face. I would have preferred to have maintained my smile, but it only faltered for a moment. I doubted she noticed anyway, she didn’t seem to notice much. At least I saved some lunch.  
  
“Of course I remember Eileen, still playing gobstones?” I asked politely, although hoping to hurry through the idle small talk.  
  
“Not so much these days,” she said, eyes on the floor. She was worn down significantly, and it was growing increasingly unpleasant to be faced with the reality of how some people lived whilst I was in deep comfort.  
  
“I see…” I trailed off as my wife ushered us into the main living room. Already I was starting to forget what it is exactly that I was thinking as I made my way downstairs. I would have to refresh my memory all over again, another little frustration.  
  
“Eileen came here this morning, darling,” my wife said gently to me, her smile more genuine than my own. I suppose that was something positive to come of this. Despite the small differences we had, I definitely wanted Odette to be happy. She was a good woman, albeit frustrating at times. “The house elves are about to prepare a meal, I was planning to ask if you would join us anyway, and now that you’ve come down from your office I suppose you can.”  
  
“Darling, I would prefer it if I could-,” I’d only just managed to get out before I was interrupted again. Once more I fell into a state of polite silence.  
  
“I’ve just got her settled and had a nice chat with Eileen while her son was getting cleaned up, so why don’t we have a little aperitif before dinner? He’s just finished his first year at Hogwarts, you know.”  
  
I had just opened my mouth to protest and make it clear for the last time that I was unable to, a word I used as a synonym for unwilling in this household, before I’d had a sudden change of heart. Witches and wizards, if you are reading this then please do not judge me too harshly. There he sat, Severus in a bath robe borrowed from our manor, more than a few sizes too big. His hair was wet from his bath, a couple of droplets of water falling from the black strands and quickly soaking into the fabric wrapped around him. He sat, reclining on the sofa, his slender, pale legs with small feet at the end swinging back and forth. He sat, engrossed in one of the academic books that I had written a few years earlier. He sat at four feet eight inches, skin a gentle pale as the china dolls that my sister had collected when I was small. He sat with a soft jawline and distinguished nose with small, peach lips that occasionally moved between his teeth as he continued to read. He sat, and I looked. He sat, and finally his dark, charcoal eyes finally dragged up from his book to meet mine. He looked, and I smiled.  
  
“Perfect,” I finally said to my wife, her words a faint blur. “Perfect…”  
  
After the words left my lips, the boy’s serious expression far beyond his years then easily melted into smile. A sweet smile with braces over his teeth, something I had only read about in books on muggle studies before but for the first time had ever seemed appealing. Sweet, soft, his eyes full of all the innocence and hopes and dreams that I myself had had once upon a time.  
  
Wizards and witches, please remember that we cannot control what brings light to our lives and fire to our loins. My heart had easily melted into a pot of ink in which I was willing to write a list of all the wonders of the world I was to bring this boy. His eyes then moved back to the book, and with reluctance I finally brought myself back into my wife’s conversation.  
  
“That would be perfect, my sweet,” I said, with that light, magical feeling deep within my heart and my soul that I had not felt since I was an innocent boy-child myself. “Absolutely perfect.”


End file.
